British Bachelors: Delicious & Dangerous

CHAPTER THREE

HAL HAD BEEN in dire need of a rest when they’d returned from the hospital. After the tedious rounds of X-rays and physiotherapy he’d endured, as well as a further consultation about the results with his surgeon, he’d been so exhausted that the only thing he’d longed for was at least a couple of hours of unbroken sleep.

In the living room he’d allowed Kit to assist him in getting comfortable on the couch, privately surprised at how used to her touch he was getting and how quickly he had started to trust it.

The biggest surprise of all had come when he’d learned what an amazingly confident driver she was. His top-of-the-range sporty four-by-four had been handled as expertly as if Hal was driving it himself. Any fears about her denting or damaging one of his favourite cars were happily unfounded.

But when Kit had been gently about to drape a cashmere throw over him as he lay back against the couch cushions he’d instantly reverted to type and snapped, ‘For God’s sake, woman! Stop fussing, will you?’

After that he’d despatched her to her room to unpack and acclimatise herself to her new surroundings, telling her to leave him in peace for a while. When she’d shut the door behind her, as he’d instructed, he’d closed his eyes only to find that the scent of her floral perfume lingered a little too disturbingly for his peace of mind. To compound the disturbance he’d also recalled just then how her precariously arranged topknot had finally collapsed during his consultation, spilling over her shoulders in a vivid autumnal riot of auburn silk. After that it had taken Hal quite a bit longer than he’d hoped to finally slip into the deep slumber he’d craved...

When he awoke it was to a darkened room, with thundering rain pouring outside. The downpour was so fierce that it lashed against the window panes as if trying to force an entry. It must be quite some storm for it to be so dark this early. Manoeuvring himself upright, he roughly scrubbed the backs of his knuckles across his eyelids and yawned. The sudden realisation that he was in dire need of the bathroom made him immediately seek out his walking aids. When he saw that they had been leant against an armchair a few feet away he muttered a ripe curse beneath his breath. How the hell was he supposed to reach them over there? The uncharacteristic sense of helplessness that swept over him made him feel even more irritated.

‘Kit!’ he yelled. ‘Where the hell are you? I need you in here now!’

The door opened almost straight away and variously placed lamps flooded the room with softly diffused lighting. The first thing Hal noticed was that his new assistant had tamed her riot of auburn hair back into its precarious topknot. He didn’t rightly know why that should be such a crime, but to his thinking it was.

‘I need my crutches,’ he said gruffly, carefully swinging his legs to the floor. ‘I’m pretty desperate to get to the bathroom.’

Without a word she immediately went across to the armchair to collect them, then returned to stand in front of him.

‘It might be quicker if you lean on me and hop. It’s just a few feet away, isn’t it?’

‘Sweetheart.’ He glanced up into her pretty blue eyes and intoned, gravel-voiced, ‘I’m six-foot-two and no lightweight. I have only your word that you’re stronger than you look, and I’d rather not risk you getting a broken leg to match mine. Just help me with the crutches, will you?’

A little more au fait with the walking aids since his session with the physiotherapist, Hal was nonetheless pleased to see that Kit had waited for him when he emerged from the bathroom. Keeping a close eye on him, she silently accompanied him back down the hallway and into the living room.

‘Would you like me to get on with dinner now?’ she asked.

Dropping down onto the couch, he stared blankly out of the window, suddenly hypnotised by the still hammering rain. ‘It looks pretty bleak out there, doesn’t it?’ he commented.

‘Perhaps it’s not so bad being forced to stay in this evening in light of the weather?’

There it was again...that surprisingly engaging smile. It completely transformed her otherwise serious demeanour and made Hal think she should smile more often. Not wanting to linger on the idea, he found himself nodding in agreement. For someone who prided himself on not letting even the most extreme weather conditions prevent him from doing what he wanted if he could help it, it was probably a first. Then it struck him what Kit had said just before that last remark.

His brows drawing together in puzzlement, he asked, ‘Shouldn’t we be having lunch first?’

‘I’m afraid lunchtime has come and gone, Mr Treverne. You’ve been asleep since we got back from the hospital and that was nearly four hours ago. It’s just after six in the evening.’

He was genuinely shocked. ‘You’re joking?’

The slender shoulders beneath the mint-green sweater lifted in a gently amused shrug. ‘I promise you I’m not.’

‘Did I take a sleeping pill before I napped? I don’t remember...’

‘No, you didn’t. I think sheer exhaustion probably made you sleep so well. Anyway, you must be hungry. I saw that the fridge was well stocked and I took the liberty of making a beef bolognaise while you were sleeping. By the way, I checked with the agency that you weren’t a vegetarian. I’ve just got to rustle up some pasta and I’ll bring it in to you.’

‘Sounds good. But I’ll only eat it if you push me in my chair into the dining room and then come and join me. I really can’t abide eating my meals off of a tray, and neither can I abide eating alone. I feel decrepit enough as it is in my sorry state, without acting like an invalid.’

Kit’s expression was visibly perturbed. ‘That sounds as though you believe you don’t deserve any acknowledgement of your condition at all. Isn’t that why you hired me in the first place, Mr Treverne? Because you needed some help?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Mr Treverne? And for pity’s sake please don’t keep referring to me as needing help. It’s becoming the bane of my life.’

It wasn’t her reference to his need that was bothering him, Kit guessed. It was the fact that for probably the first time ever this fit, active and no doubt fiercely independent businessman and sportsman had to be dependent on others...a state he undoubtedly despised. In truth, she entirely sympathised. She would hate it too.

‘Well, I’ll just go into the kitchen and cook the pasta, then I’ll come back and take you into the dining room.’

Stretching out his hand for the mobile phone he’d left on the coffee table, Hal turned towards her.

‘Take your time. I’ve got a couple of calls I want to make to my office first.’

‘Okay. If you need me for anything, just call out.’

* * *

While Henry had been having his rest earlier Kit had made good use of the time to unpack, arrange her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe and arrange her toiletries in the bathroom. Despite there being an array of wonderfully scented products lined up on the shelves, she wouldn’t be making use of them. After all, she was here to work, not as a guest. But she was more than appreciative of the beautiful room she’d been allocated. It had a lovely view of the large neatly mown communal gardens downstairs. The verdant green was bordered by a plethora of trees, plants and shrubs, and a person might almost fool herself that she was deep in the heart of the countryside instead of practically in the centre of London.

She’d also noticed the indisputably feminine touch that the room’s decor suggested—such as the luxurious lilac curtains with matching swags that hung at the windows and the array of colourful cushions that were attractively arranged at the head of the Queen-sized bed. The silk pillows were made up of various vintage designs full of natural motifs like birds and flowers. It was definitely not a man’s room. In fact the decor was the polar opposite of the very masculine chrome and glass furnishings that the apartment’s owner obviously favoured. Was Hal’s sister Sam’s the female influence that had helped design it?

Dropping strands of linguine into a pan of boiling water in the kitchen, Kit pushed back her hair and frowned. There’d been no mention of a girlfriend or fiancée. If Henry Treverne had either then surely she would have been told of her existence in case the woman dropped in or telephoned? In the newspaper reports she’d read about the accident at the time there’d been no mention of a girlfriend—which, considering his ‘playboy’ reputation, had surprised her. Telling herself he must be between relationships, she dropped her shoulders and made herself relax. The job she did could be testing enough without relatives or ‘significant others’ keeping too close an eye on her. She always worked best when her clients trusted her judgement enough to know that she could be completely relied upon to take good care of her charge.

In the dining room that also shared a view of the communal gardens, Hal took four or five mouthfuls of the fragrant pasta Kit had carefully prepared and across the magnificent glass table gave her a rueful smile.

‘This is really good,’ he commented. ‘But I can’t say the same is true of my appetite since the accident. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave it there. This must be a first. Anyone who knows me well would tell you that it’s unheard of for me to leave anything. Usually I can eat for England.’

‘Trauma can affect people in many different ways,’ Kit answered thoughtfully. ‘As I’m sure your sister must have told you.’

‘Trust me...she has. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so all knowing.’

Wanting to convey her reassurance, and sensing that underneath the dry wit he was probably feeling understandably low, she didn’t hesitate to smile. ‘You shouldn’t worry about not having much of an appetite. I’m sure it will return in a few days, when you’ve started to feel more comfortable about getting round on your crutches and are getting more sleep. Rest is one of the greatest healers, but in our fast-paced culture it’s too often overlooked.’

Hal’s golden eyes narrowed interestedly. ‘You sound as if you have some strong views on the subject?’

Laying her fork and spoon down on her plate, Kit took a few moments to mull over the remark. ‘Moving so fast puts a lot of strain and pressure on the body as well as on the mind.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that we aren’t machines. We’re flesh and blood and bone, and an overload of stress and pressure can tip us over the edge as well as cause accidents.’

‘Then I take it you definitely wouldn’t approve of someone who regularly pushes their body to the max in the pursuit of being the best he can in any sport or activity he participates in?’

‘I presume you’re talking about yourself?’ Her gaze met his arresting hazel eyes and she saw his pupils flare teasingly.

‘Yes, I am,’ he confirmed, smiling. ‘I put my heart and soul into everything I do...and I mean everything.’

Kit’s body tightened at his emphasis and a distinct buzz of sensual heat sizzled through her. The strong reaction took her aback and caused her to feel unsettled for a moment. Willing back her composure—because in all likelihood it was second nature for a man like Hal to tease women and get them flustered—she reached for her fork with a matter-of-fact air and curled some linguine round it. The man was on a hiding to nothing if he thought to unhinge her with sexual innuendos to inflate his ego, she thought. He’d soon come to learn that she was immune.

‘I’m sure that’s commendable,’ she commented, ‘but it can also be dangerous when a desire to be competitive becomes the driving force in everything you do. Wasn’t that how you came to have your accident in the first place?’

The teasing smile completely vanished from her companion’s handsome face. ‘I suppose you read that in the newspapers?’ Plucking his linen napkin from where he’d laid it across his lap, Hal threw it down on the table in disgust and scowled. ‘Newspaper reporters aren’t exactly known for telling the truth, you know.’

‘Was that a fabrication, then? That you were racing a business rival on a ski slope that’s considered to be one of the most extreme terrains in the mountains?’

‘You know what, Kit Blessington? If you ever think about a change of career you ought to consider becoming a public prosecutor. You certainly don’t take any prisoners.’

Directly meeting his irritated glance, Kit shrugged. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I would hate to be responsible for condemning anyone...whether I was paid to do it or not. And although I don’t think of what I do as a career, exactly, I’m quite happy earning my living at it and endeavouring to deliver a good service.’

Hearing the heavy sigh Hal emitted following her statement, she thought she’d better rein in her propensity to call a spade a spade before she talked herself out of a job. Antagonising a man who was already struggling to come to terms with an injury that severely restricted his usual activities was really not a good idea.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with my opinions,’ she said quickly. ‘I have no desire to upset you. I suppose I just get a little passionate about the things that I believe are right.’

‘Everyone is entitled to their views, and being passionate isn’t a crime.’

There was the briefest suggestion of a smile on his beautifully carved lips and Kit was reassured.

‘In my book being passionate just means that you care,’ Henry continued, ‘Which is why I take the risks I do in my work and in the sports that I love. And besides, it’s in the male DNA to be competitive...survival of the fittest and all that.’

Unable to curb the impulse, she leaned towards him. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but don’t you get tired of having to conform to that ethos all the time?’

Rolling his eyes, Hal grimaced. ‘Right now I don’t exactly have much choice, do I?’

‘I tell you what...’ Rising to her feet, Kit had a sudden brainwave. ‘Why don’t I make us a pot of coffee and I’ll cut you a slice of home-made fruitcake to go with it? I know you didn’t feel much like eating your dinner, but that could be dessert.’

‘We’ve got home-made fruitcake?’ His previously glum expression was transformed by the most beguiling boyish grin she had ever seen.

Crossing her arms over her mint-green sweater, she couldn’t help smiling back. ‘I brought it with me from home. I made it last night. When I rang the agency to confirm that I’d got the job the manager told me that it was one of your favourites.’

‘Sam probably tipped her off. She knows I’ve a real weakness for cake...particularly fruitcake.’

‘Well, then, why don’t you just sit and relax and I’ll go and get you some?’

‘Don’t forget the coffee.’

‘I won’t.’

* * *

As Hal lingered over his coffee Kit disappeared into the kitchen to stack the dishwasher. With a contented sigh he stretched out his long legs on the couch and winced as familiar intermittent pain shot down his calf. For once he didn’t allow it to destroy his equilibrium. In truth, he regretted not making a better effort with the aromatic pasta Kit had cooked, but he’d immensely enjoyed the fruitcake she’d made. It was probably one of the best cakes he’d ever eaten. One thing was certain: if that was an example of her attention to detail on behalf of the people she worked for then she couldn’t be faulted.

Utilising the remote device by his side, Hal turned up the volume on the soothing music he was listening to. If he could just learn to curtail the impatience and restlessness that had plagued him since the accident had immobilised him then perhaps he could start to enjoy the enforced rest that he was faced with? It had literally been years since he’d had some proper respite. Most days he lived his life as though he were in a race to get to the finish line first.

In a bid to divert the less than comfortable realisation, he returned his thoughts to Kit. There was something about the feisty redhead’s presence that was undeniably reassuring. What had helped her become so capable and pragmatic? He was curious to know. Maybe over the next few days he would try to draw her out and get to know her a little? The women in his life had always bemoaned the fact that Hal didn’t give them enough of his time and attention—be they the girlfriends he’d had or his sister Sam—because he was inevitably obsessed with work and also the high-octane sports activities he favoured. If he made it a bit of a project to find out more about Kit’s background by conversing with her and really listening to what she had to say then it might help him learn how to improve his relationships with women in the future. At any rate, it was worth a try. Seeing as though all his usual distractions were denied him because of his injury, why not just embrace what was available instead?

Another knifing pain shot through his leg, but it was mostly concentrated on the muscles in his knee that had been damaged. Just as he reached down to massage it the door opened and Kit returned. As if intuiting he was in some discomfort, she came straight over to him with a concerned frown.

‘I think I should get you some ice for that knee. But first let me put some pillows underneath you to elevate it. If we do that every day then it will help reduce the swelling.’

‘You’re the boss,’ Hal quipped ruefully.

‘It’s good to know you don’t have a problem with a woman being in charge.’

‘This is a one time and one time only deal. My tolerance and acceptance will only stretch so far. Once I’m back on my feet again you’d be unwise to push any advantage you’d gained while I was laid up.’

Raising her brows, Kit responded smartly, ‘When you’re back on your feet again you’ll no longer need my services, so such a possibility won’t even arise. I’ll be looking after another client...hopefully one a little less egotistical than you. Now, I’ll just go and get a couple of pillows to elevate that knee.’

Any response he might normally have made to such an unflattering observation worryingly deserted Hal. The idea that Kit was already eagerly contemplating a new client—one ‘a little less egotistical’ than he was—seriously bothered him. And neither did he welcome the sense of vulnerability it left him with. Weakness of any kind didn’t sit well with him.

As she exited the room to fetch the pillows he breathed out a disgruntled sigh. But when she returned carrying them, and leaned towards him to carry out the necessary manoeuvre, he immediately noted that her smooth alabaster cheeks had a faintly scarlet tint to them. How interesting, he thought. Perhaps it wasn’t just his egotistical nature that ruffled this coolly efficient redhead?

‘Lift up,’ she instructed, her bright blue eyes skimming his features with the merest brief glance.

Raising himself in order that she could slide the pillows beneath him, Hal wasn’t about to let the fact go unremarked...

‘You’re blushing, Ms Blessington. Does it disturb you to get this close to your client? Because if it does I don’t know how you’re going to manage when you help me into my bath later,’ he taunted.

Carefully assisting him to lower his legs down onto the pillows, Kit met his amused glance with a similarly mocking one.

‘If you think it’s going to make me squirm with embarrassment seeing an injured man in his birthday suit then I hate to disappoint you, Mr Treverne. Trust me—I’ve seen it all before!’

For the second time in a few short minutes Hal found himself worryingly bereft of an apt rejoinder and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit!

CHAPTER FOUR

THE LUXURIOUS BATHROOM adjacent to Hal’s equally opulent bedroom had a vast sunken bath and shower and a gleaming marble floor with a striking snakeskin finish. If Kit hadn’t known it to be true already, it screamed out that its owner was undoubtedly male, seriously charismatic and frighteningly rich. And so far her new employer was proving to be the most challenging one she’d ever worked for...

Dropping down onto a seriously comfy-looking chair, Hal handed over his crutches to her without preamble. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night and Kit knew that he was still tired, still hurting, and cranky because of it. Trying not to pay too much attention to the unhappy expression on his handsome face, she stood the crutches against the wall, leant down to the bath and turned on the taps.

As the water gushed out into the tub she glanced over her shoulder and asked, ‘What kind of temperature do you like?’

‘What?’

He was staring at her as though in a trance. Straightening, she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling as though she were suddenly being examined under the searching glare of an intense spotlight. It was hard to string a single coherent thought together when her heart felt as though she was careening downhill at breakneck speed because it beat so fast.